Hunted

  Katrina didn’t speak.

  “I’m getting a drink.” Then Tom stormed off down the street. He left Katrina behind him, standing alone.

  * * *

  CHAZ FONTEL CHECKED the lines on his boats. It was quitting time, and he wanted to make sure he stepped in early at the local bar. He’d been interviewed by Casey Quinn—and at least four other reporters that day. He needed to tell his friends about those reporters.

  He also wanted to make sure he warned people to stay away from Kurt Anderson. The guy was trouble.

  Chaz turned around. And he had to do a quick double take when he saw someone standing less than five feet away. “Jesus!” He put his hand to his heart. “Didn’t even see you there!” He laughed. “Look, this town is jumpy enough as it is. You can’t go sneaking up on people.” He approached his visitor. “You here to rent another boat? Because I was shutting down early today. I’m not going to do the night rentals for a while. I get that it’s a good way to blow off steam, but in light of everything that’s been happening, I just think a break is needed.” He walked past the customer and moved toward his office. “Sorry, but I can’t—”

  The blow struck him in the back of the head. Hard and brutal, swinging down at him and sending him crashing onto the wooden dock. Then he was being kicked, again and again, and he rolled, trying to protect himself. He rolled—

  And crashed right into the water. He tried to kick up, breaking through the surface, but—

  As soon as his head cleared the water, he was hit. Something hard and wooden slammed into his head. An oar?

  He went back down.

  This time, he couldn’t kick up.

  * * *

  JOSH BRAKED THE motorcycle just beyond the line of yellow police tape. The setting sun had turned the sky a dark red. The waves were crashing nearby.

  Casey was still behind him, her hands wrapped tightly around his waist. It was so odd, but the woman just seemed to fit him. Inside and out. He kicked down the stand, and she slid back. He immediately missed her warmth.

  He missed her.

  “I thought it wouldn’t seem as scary, coming here with you. But...it still does.” She rubbed her upper arms, as if chilled in the summer air. “Let’s go inside, okay? Waiting just makes me more nervous.”

  He caught her hand. Josh threaded his fingers with hers. Then he hurried forward. His shoes sank into the sand and he bent, sliding beneath the line of yellow police tape. The wind blew against them, flattening their clothes and tossing their hair. The house was built up on stilts, protecting it from the storm surge that could come if a hurricane ever turned toward Hope. They climbed those wooden steps slowly that led up to the structure. A temporary construction door was in place over the main entrance, a door that didn’t have a lock. He pushed it open, and even though there was still muted light coming into the cabin, Josh pulled out his flashlight.

  “Let’s go up to the next level,” Casey said. “Because the only thing I remember down here...is seeing you.”

  They started walking. Her phone rang. The cry was loud and peeling and she jumped. Casey fumbled and pulled out her phone. “Tom.” His name was a sigh. “Give me just a second, okay?”

  Josh waited. His light swung around the cabin. Construction had halted after the discovery that the place had been a crime scene. Would the builders eventually finish? Or would they rip the place down? Josh didn’t exactly see anyone wanting to live in a serial killer’s old lair.

  Casey put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Tom...No, no, we’re not at the penthouse yet. I told you that I wanted to stop by the crime scene...I’m fine...No, Tom, I don’t need you. And if I remember anything else, I’m telling the FBI first, not you.” Her voice was brisk. “Good night.” She shoved the phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

  Josh raised a brow. “Trouble?”

  “He’s becoming so, yes. My attack has...apparently changed things for him.” She edged closer to him. Their fingers brushed. “He’s feeling protective, he says. Clingy, I say.”

  “He cares about you.” That knowledge shouldn’t have made him angry, but it did.

  “He likes conquests. I’ve seen it before. For some reason, he’s decided that he needs me now. He was saying that he didn’t even realize how he felt, not until he’d heard that I’d been taken.”

  Josh didn’t move. “And how do you feel?”

  Her head tipped back. “I feel like I’m staring at the man I want.”

  He wanted to kiss her. Right there, in that godforsaken place. But...

  Hold the thought. Do the search. Get her to safety.

  He turned away. Shined the light at the stairs and then—

  He swung right back toward her. His hand slid under her chin, he tipped her head back a bit more and he kissed her. Deep, quick, hard.

  Enough to savor. Enough to tease.

  “Josh?”

  He stared into her eyes. “Just so you know, I’m staring at the woman I want.” She didn’t play games. He wouldn’t, either. Then, taking her hand, they went up the stairs. He made sure to go first, a habit from the FBI and his SEAL days. If there was any threat there, he’d be facing it first.

  At the top of the stairs, he turned into the first room on the left—it was the most finished room. The others still sported barely framed walls.

  The room on the left—that had been the room she’d been held inside. The rope was gone. Sawdust was still on the ground, mixed with discarded pieces of wood.

  Plastic had been put over one of the window spaces, but it flapped in the wind.

  Casey slid past him. Her hand broke from his. “I woke up right there.” She pointed to the floor. “He had to be strong, huh? To carry me up the stairs while I was out cold.” She shivered. “He could have done anything to me then, and I wouldn’t have known. I—” She shook her head. Straightened her shoulders. “I woke up right there,” she said again, her voice stronger. “And I was alone in here. I screamed for help...”

  But no help had come. Only the perp had come to her.

  “I can smell the ocean,” she whispered. Her eyes closed. “When he came in... I—I don’t think I smelled the oil any longer. That means—he cleaned up, right? He must have cleaned up somewhere and then he came to me. He had his knife. He had the phone. He called the sheriff and—” Casey shook her head. “I’m not getting anything new. It’s not working this time.”

  He wanted to pull her into his arms. But she was pacing, her movements tight and worried, and he held himself still.

  She headed toward the window—not the one that overlooked the ocean, but the one that focused back toward the city. She stared out. “He must’ve had a car stashed somewhere, right? I mean, for him to get away so quickly. After I stabbed him, he hit me again.” Her hand rose to feather over her cheek. “I fell back for a minute and he ran out. I was afraid to follow him at first. Afraid to move at all, and that was time that I wasted. Time that let him get away.” She looked back at him. “So I know that if he does kill someone else, that’s on me. I should have chased him. I should have stopped him. I—”

  Josh had gone to her, helpless to stop himself. His hands closed around her shoulders. “You should have survived. That’s the only thing you needed to do.” He turned her to face him fully. “You fought him off. You gave Hayden your location. The perp probably did have a ride stashed somewhere nearby—and he knows the area. He was able to vanish fast because—”

  But his words stopped. He’d just...seen someone below. Hadn’t he? It had been a quick flash of movement. Like a shadow rushing away from—his bike?

  “Josh?”

  He eased her to the side even as he pulled out his weapon. His gaze had narrowed as he fought to search through the growing darkness below. Yes, yes, someone was there. And—

  He heard another motorcycle g
rowl.

  That was how he’d gotten away so fast. Since coming to Hope, Josh had realized there were quite a few people in the town who liked to use motorcycles and scooters—the smaller vehicles enabled them to access all of the trails that were scattered around Hope.

  “He came back, too,” Josh muttered. Because the perp had left something behind? Or because he just couldn’t stay away from the scene of his kills? Josh whirled away from the window. “He’s down there.” And he was getting away.

  No, that couldn’t happen. Josh and Casey raced down the stairs. He shoved past that wooden front door and erupted into the darkness. He kept one hand wrapped around Casey’s wrist and his other had his gun.

  “I thought it was you,” Casey said, her words tumbling out. “I heard the motorcycle that morning—but you were rushing into the cabin when I came down the stairs. That noise—I thought it was you.”

  The perp had been clever. He’d used the sound of Josh’s bike to mask his own departure.

  Josh jumped onto his motorcycle and holstered his weapon. Casey grabbed her helmet, then she was holding him tight. He kicked up the stand and had the engine roaring to life. He took off, spraying up sand in his wake. He could see the other motorcycle up ahead. The driver was wearing a dark helmet, completely shielding his head. The driver was driving fast as hell as he turned on a sharp curve that led away from the beach.

  “Hold on,” Josh snapped. He braked a bit, trying to slow before the curve—

  Something is wrong. The bike slowed, just a bit, but the control was off. There was a long, loud grinding noise that came from the motorcycle. What in the hell?

  “Casey—”

  The other driver had stopped. In the next moment, the fellow turned his motorcycle around, revved his engine and then took off, heading straight for Josh and Casey.

  “Is he playing chicken?” she yelled. “What is he doing?”

  He was coming right at them, and Josh’s bike was out of control. He couldn’t brake, and he smelled the bitter odor of oil.

  Casey smelled oil in her hotel room.

  The guy was almost on them. “Casey, you’ll need to jump.”

  “What?”

  He tried to steer toward the side of the road, but the motorcycle just gave another horrible groan of metal. The other driver was closing in. The SOB slammed the front of his motorcycle into Josh’s bike. Josh and Casey went swerving. Their motorcycle hurtled across the road as sparks flew from the tires and spokes.

  They were crashing, hitting too hard. Josh spun back and grabbed Casey, trying to get her off that bike and to safety.

  But then he wrecked. The motorcycle didn’t hit the soft sand dune he’d been aiming for, but it slammed into the hard base of a tree. The metal didn’t just groan then. It screamed as both he and Casey went flying.

  Chapter Twelve

  She hurt. Casey moaned as she opened her eyes. She was on the ground and her whole body ached. When she lifted her hands, she felt the blood on her palms. When they’d crashed, she’d gone flying. She’d hit the pavement, hard, and the skin had torn off her hands—and maybe her knees. Her jeans were wet near her knees and she was—

  Someone was standing over her. A man in a black motorcycle helmet. She still had her helmet on, too. “Josh?” Casey whispered. Had he been wearing a dark helmet? Was he—

  The man lifted his gloved hand and she saw the knife he gripped tightly.

  “Get away from her!” Josh’s roar seemed to echo around her. “Now! I’m a federal agent, and I am telling you to back away!”

  Casey kicked out with her feet, aiming for the guy’s shin. He staggered and yelled behind the lowered visor of his helmet. She saw nothing in that darkness—nothing that told her who he was.

  “Drop the knife!” Josh yelled.

  The guy in the helmet lunged toward her as he swiped down with the knife.

  Josh fired. The boom of the gun seemed to erupt around her. Her attacker staggered and the knife dropped from his hand. Josh had hit him high in the shoulder.

  Casey shoved to her feet and stumbled back a few desperate steps. She could see Josh running toward her and the perp. Josh’s gun was still out and aimed at her attacker. The guy had grabbed his shoulder. He whirled toward her.

  Again, she saw only blackness.

  But...she heard the rumble of another motor. One that was coming toward them. So fast.

  She looked to the left and saw another motorcycle hurtling down the little road.

  And—

  The bike braked. The rider lifted his hand and Casey saw that he was armed, as well. Only not with a knife. A gun.

  There are two of them.

  “Get down, Casey!” Josh yelled.

  She was already diving for cover. In the next instant, he was above her and she heard the blast of gunfire once more. Josh rolled them, tumbling them down the small sand dune, and she knew he was trying to shield them both.

  Gunfire thundered once more, but nothing had hit her. Her breath sawed from her lungs. Safe. For the moment and—

  A motorcycle revved. Tires squealed.

  “He’s getting away,” Josh snarled. “Stay down!” He leapt to his feet. She peeked up just enough to see him take aim and fire.

  But it was too late.

  Her attacker and the second rider—they were both gone.

  “Damn it!” She could feel his fury, but in the next instant, Josh turned toward her and his voice shook with worry. “Casey! Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m okay.” Scrapes, bruises, a little blood. Nothing fatal. She took off the helmet—she’d still been wearing the thing.

  “My bike is trashed—I can’t follow them.” He’d yanked out his phone. “We need an APB out for them right now. Two of them. A team, I should have considered it... Two would make everything so much easier. Subduing the victims, transporting them. One could be lookout. One could drive the boat. The other could get rid of the body—”

  She could still hear the roar of that motorcycle.

  Josh had his phone to his ear. “Tucker, Tucker, listen man. I need you to start a hunt for two motorcycles. Yes, yes, listen to me. We were at the beach house and we were attacked. They just left us—get deputies and agents on the road now... Here’s the description of the bikes...”

  * * *

  THEY FOUND THE MOTORCYCLES. They were located less than twenty minutes later. The bikes were dumped near the public beach. The place was deserted after sunset, and the perps had used that to their advantage.

  Josh paced near the scene, fury riding him hard. “I let them get away.”

  Tucker sighed. “From the sound of things, you and Casey are both lucky to be alive.” He shook his head. “You really think the guy tampered with your bike?”

  “I know he did. The brakes were barely working, steering was a nightmare and we were freaking sitting ducks when he turned on us.” The guy had set a trap and Josh had fallen right into it—and he’d nearly taken Casey down with him. “He was going to kill her. The bike was still on top of me, and I couldn’t get to her fast enough.”

  Casey had been thrown, and thankfully she’d had the helmet on.

  “She didn’t like motorcycles,” Josh muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “The first time I tried to get her on one...” His gaze sought her out. She was in the back of a patrol car—the sheriff’s car—sitting still in the middle of that madness. “She didn’t want to go with me. I had to convince her.”

  That moment seemed like it had occurred so long ago.

  “You shot him?” Tucker prompted.

  “In the right shoulder. So if you want to know with certainty whether or not Kurt Anderson is our perp, you don’t have to wait for tomorrow and the results of the blood work.” His lips twisted. “Go find him right now. See if
he has a gunshot wound.”

  Tucker nodded. “I already got agents searching for him right now.”

  They needed to search faster. “Two of them. Can’t believe that—when the second rider came up, I barely had time to cover Casey.”

  “She’s okay.” Tucker gripped his shoulder. “She’s safe.”

  “He came after her. They came after her. Just like we feared. She’s in their sights, and they won’t stop, not until they have her.” He gave a grim shake of his head. “I’m not going to let that happen. Casey isn’t going to wind up in the ocean. I won’t go diving down there and find her that way—I can’t.” He forced his gaze to move away from her. His eyes met Tucker’s. “She matters too much.”

  “Like that, is it?”

  Too fast, too soon, but... Why deny it any longer? Why pretend? “Yes, it’s like that.”

  Hayden came rushing up toward them. “The motorcycles were both reported stolen in Pensacola—that was four weeks ago.”

  Josh scraped his hand across the stubble on his cheek. “There’s no way they transported the victims on those bikes. They used something else. Something that was at the scene of each crime. There must be a van or an SUV that they have—probably had it waiting right here at the beach so that they could make a clean getaway.” But he didn’t think they’d gone far. No, not far at all.

  They would be hunting for Casey again soon.

  The local authorities had fanned out, searching the scene. They were going up and down the beach, shining their flashlights across the sand as they searched for possible tracks or evidence.

  “You should get Casey out of here,” Tucker continued. “If we find something, I’ll let you know. Screw what FBI brass said—she’s obviously still a target, and her protection should be the FBI’s priority.”

  Her protection was his priority. “I almost lost her.” Josh shook his head. “It can’t happen again.” It won’t happen. He stalked toward the sheriff’s car.

  * * *

  “STAY STILL! THE bullet went right through you. I just need to stop the blood.”